Fugitives of Destiny
by Odsbodkins
Summary: A masked ball and what happened years before. Set mainly in Hermoine's 7th year. HGSS?
1. Prologue

  
  
  
  
  
Author's Notes: Hogwarts, Harry Potter etc, all belong to JK Rowling   
  
  


**PROLOGUE**

  
  
He leaned against the wall at the back of the room, observing all that was going on around him. His dark green, velvet robe draped elegantly from his lean frame and rippled gently at any movement he made. Underneath, he was wearing a black, tight-fitting, double-breasted shirt, which outlined the contours of his chest as he breathed slowly. The shirt fastened high around his neck. His trousers were also black, but were decorated at the top by the ornate, silver buckle of his belt. If you were to look closely, you would see that it was in the shape of a serpent, wrapped loosely around a small dagger. It occasionally caught the light of the candles surrounding the hall, as he moved, and gleamed briefly. On his feet he wore long black boots over his trousers – on his hands, dark gloves.   
  
In one hand he held a glass of champagne, and the forefinger of his other hand casually circled the rim of the flute.  
  
Given the circumstances of this gathering, it would have been impossible to tell how he was feeling by looking at any facial expressions. However, if anyone had taken the time to study his body language closely, they would have said that he appeared uninterested and dispassionate, as if distanced from the whole affair. Since he had arrived, he had not engaged in any conversation and did not give any indication that he would welcome any approaches from other people in the hall.   
  
Yet, despite appearances, he was actually studying with interest, all the different people as they made their way into the hall. Although the mask he wore reminded him of a darker period in his life, he had to admit that it gave the perfect opportunity to examine other people and their behaviour. They were coming in groups of twos and threes, laughing and smiling, and sense of well being existed around them like an invisible mist. A carefree attitude appeared to prevail around the hall – a remarkable change from an earlier time.  
  
He moved his gaze from the hall entrance, and looked slowly around the room, missing nothing. It was already half full of people and was beginning to fill up quickly. He heard the murmurs of admiration and appreciation as they looked around them, at the decorations of the night. Placed around the walls were hundreds of candles, sitting in elaborate candelabras, the wax falling picture-perfectly down their sides. They were clearly charmed, for burn as long as they might, the flickering flames would not move their way down the wicks. Hanging from the ceiling, was a substantial chandelier, which held even more candles – they sat between many suspended, little glass beads that danced and sparkled in the light. Reaching from the chandelier to the four corners of the room, were four large mantles, coloured cream. They hung loosely and waved gently now and again, reacting to the hustle and bustle below. Underfoot was a floor that seemed to be made of frosted glass and at first glance, it was as if you were walking on ice. Nevertheless, there was no danger of losing your footing, as it seemed to provide the same support as if you were walking on the finest oak. In some places, a slight mist seemed to float a few centimetres above the floor, giving the whole place an enchanted feel – almost like something from a fairytale.   
  
However, he wasn't there to admire the decorations and he certainly wasn't interested in fairytales. His eyes returned to the main doorway and he again resumed his study of the arriving guests. It would seem that everyone had made a huge effort with their appearance, and it really was close to impossible to recognise anyone as they made their way through the arch. No doubt, a certain amount of charms and potions had assisted with the masquerade. There were men and women of all shapes and sizes, dressed in all the colours of the rainbow and covering all their faces were an assortment of masks and headpieces. There were women in elaborate ball gowns and others in close-fitting dresses. Some wore masks that covered their whole face and others wore half masks covering only the area surrounding their eyes. There were headscarves, boas, and hats of different shapes and feathers of all colours that reached high in the air. The men wore cloaks and hoods and elegant eye masks, some with accessories such as silver swords or rustic pistols hanging from their waists. There were many whose faces were completely hidden as part of the camouflage, while others had adopted a more subtle approach with smaller visors, and there was at least one person wearing the mask of the _Dottore della Peste_ with the long, hornbill beak.  
  
As for himself, a long, black bandana covered his own head and hair, and most of his face was enclosed in a plain, dark mask. It was close fitting round his features and curved round his cheekbones to his jaw line, leaving only his mouth and chin uncovered. He was confident of his anonymity.   
  
Yes, it was close to impossible to recognise anyone – but that was not to say that it was actually impossible. And he knew exactly what he was waiting for. Not a certain costume in a specified colour or style. There would be no external distinguishing features that he should be aware of. Not even a particular mask to watch out for. And there would certainly be no acknowledgement in his direction. But he felt deep down inside, with a certainty that was overwhelming, that when his eyes fell upon what he was waiting for, he would know.  
  
Just out with his range of vision, outside the entrance, two other guests prepared to make their arrival. One was a man, tall with broad shoulders. He wore a crimson cloak clasped around his neck, covering a white ruffled shirt and a matching crimson waistcoat. His trousers were black, with dark red boots reaching up to his knees. His face was only visible from below the nose, the upper part being concealed behind what appeared to be a highwayman's mask. A few days worth of stubble covered what remained in the open. On his head, completing the costume, he wore a decorative black and white highwayman's hat. As he stood there waiting, he attracted many approving glances from passing females.   
  
Tenderly holding on to this Highwayman's left arm was a woman. They looked at each other and with a slight nod, made their way through the arch into the hall.  
  
Only a very keen observer of the man in black, at the back of the room would have noticed the slight pause in the circular motion made by his finger round his glass, when she entered the room.  
  
  


************

  
  
  
He watched the couple dance, and felt the familiar clench in his stomach as they smiled and talked softly to each other. He fought to keep control of his emotions, knowing that this was neither the time nor the place to be letting his feelings be in command of him. However, it was difficult for not him to feel the old – but not forgotten – sensations rise to the surface as he watched her with her partner. She was wearing a long, flowing satin dress in dark blue, with a matching satin shawl draped around her bare shoulders. Long gloves reached her up to her elbows and her hair was tied back with blue ribbons. Over her eyes and most of her face, shaped almost like a butterfly, was a delicate, velvet mask in a paler shade of blue, bordered with gold thread. Attached to the right hand side of the mask, reaching up above her hair, was a handsome collection of blue and purple feathers. Sitting elegantly in the centre of these was a single peacock feather. Looking as she did, who could blame him for these feelings as he watched the couple waltz?  
  
Not that the pair danced solely with each other – the Highwayman had captured the attention of many different women, who politely asked him to dance whenever the opportunity presented itself. At the same time, it was only natural that other men would seek out his partner. However, after a while, they always returned to each other's arms and settled comfortably together as they made their way around the dance floor.   
  
He, himself, had not found himself wanting for partners either. Realising that he would only draw attention to himself if he remained standing and staring on the outside, he had approached the woman closest to himself and had led her on to the dance floor. If you had asked him – even immediately after – it was unlikely that he would remember what she was wearing or what kind of mask she wore, hiding her face. Although he was dancing with one woman, his concentration remained on the other, watching her weave in and out of the other revellers.  
  
As one dance finished, he nodded briefly at his partner, who curtseyed slightly before leaving him on the dance floor. He turned around, and was surprised when another female approached him and invited him to dance. He accepted politely, and he once more led his partner round the room. He was careful not to allow himself get too close to the couple he was observing, which was not easy at times with so many people dancing. However, as a strong leader, he was able to dance round the outskirts of the room, all the time looking over his partner's shoulder, or to either side - watching without getting too close.  
  
Again, the music faded as the dance finished. He thanked his partner for the dance and stood back for a while, again just observing from the background. The female had just finished dancing with the _Dottore della Peste_ he had sighted earlier, but he noticed grimly that she once again made her way back to the man in the highwayman's costume. It had taken him a little longer than it took him to recognise the woman, but he was now certain that he knew the man behind the highwayman's mask. The knowledge did not please him at all. He briefly felt a flash of anger at her - that she would choose to be his partner at this time. Worse – that she didn't appear willing or able to leave his side for any length of time. In years past, he would not have remained waiting at the side of the room, but would have left immediately, cursing both of them. But things were different now. Deep down, he knew he had no right to make any judgements of anyone, and he once again tried to calm the emotions within him. He would not be making the same mistakes again.  
  
With an air of determination, he turned around and asked a passing lady to dance. It slightly surprised him that he was having no difficulty in finding partners, and put it down to the champagne reducing people's inhibitions. Either that, or the masks were increasing their confidence. He did not realise that he had attracted his own fair share of admiring glances from some guests, and that several women were keen to dance with the mysterious man in black. The fact that he scarcely acknowledged them, appeared to add to the enigma.   
  
And so the evening progressed – him dancing with different strangers around the outside of the room, barely noticing as one partner left and another arrived – while she smiled as she finished a dance with one masked-man to return to the arms of the one she arrived with. He watched as she curtseyed, as she smiled, as her head moved forward when she spoke, and tilted backwards as she laughed. He saw how she engaged in conversation with her partners, apparently listening intently as they chattered on to her, appearing to be interested in all they were saying. He watched as she moved freely, dancing gracefully from partner to partner, the steps seeming to come naturally to her  
  
In fact, her skills on the dance floor had improved somewhat, he noted, allowing himself a slight smile.  
  
  


************

  
  
  
Another waltz was coming to an end, and couples smiled at each other as they stepped apart. He had engineered it this time, so that he had finished the dance within a short distance from her.  
  
The time for keeping his distance had passed.  
  
  


************

  
  
  
She looked up at him as he indicated with his hand that he was inviting her to join him. Something – as if she was remembering a vague memory – caused her to pause and their eyes met briefly, before she lowered them and smiled in acquiescence, appearing to set aside whatever thought she had. He turned and nodded curtly to the Highwayman, almost as if dismissing him, and then returned his attention to her. He took a small step closer, and slowly took one of her gloved hands in his, and placed his other on the small of her back. She rested her left hand lightly on his shoulder. The music started and they began to dance.  
  
They moved slowly at first, and then picked up the pace slightly as she seemed to become more comfortable in his arms. Leading her swiftly round the floor, this time he did not bother to keep to the outskirts, but made the most of the whole dance space around them. He made no effort to speak to her, and she seemed content to be dancing in silence. He concentrated on nothing but her, as he remembered what it felt like to have her so close, watching her movements, inhaling her scent. Unconsciously, he gripped her hand a little tighter and pulled her body a little closer to his own. She felt so light under his touch, as they manoeuvred their way around the room. He cast his mind back to the last time they had danced, and couldn't help but give a soft chuckle at the memory. It vibrated low in his chest.  
  
As if she had been taken by surprise, she looked up at him again quickly, and he averted his eyes swiftly to somewhere above her head. He could sense her eyes roving over his face, examining him, as if trying to picture what was under the mask. How well he remembered that intent gaze, searching for an answer, missing nothing. Feeling her eyes travel lower, he returned his own gaze back to her and watched her reactions as she studied him. She took in the dark velvet robe and the black, double- breasted shirt, fastened high around his neck. She observed the dark glove on the hand that was clasped around her own. He even felt a little self-conscious as her eyes wandered over his chest, watching it move gently as he breathed.  
  
Her eyes finally fell upon the silver buckle of his belt. Her mouth opened slightly and she raised her face upwards questioningly.  
  
Their eyes met for a third time, but this time neither of them looked away. Instead, she seemed to gaze deep inside him, as if she could see right through to his very soul. Although the music continued and the people danced around them, they began to slow down, still in each other's arms, until they came to a complete stand still. He was breathing deeply, his eyes still locked with hers, waiting for her next move. How long he had waited for this moment!  
  
She leaned closer to him – he could feel her breath on his neck and he almost imagined he could feel her heartbeat. She turned her head slightly and he was now looking over her shoulder at the dancers behind her. How strange that they could continue dancing, as if nothing was changing, unaware of the precipice before him. He wasn't even sure he could hear the music anymore.  
  
At the sound of her voice, he felt his breath catch in his chest and he unconsciously shut his eyes, as she whispered softly, trembling with emotion,  
  
"They told me you were dead".  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Preview of Chapter One

  
  
  
**

CHAPTER ONE

**  
  


_Six years previously………_

  
  
"Ronald Weasley! If you do not stop that behaviour this instant, I will be sending an owl to your mother the moment we arrive at Hogwarts!" said Hermoine Granger, crossly.  
  
She was hunched up her seat on the Hogwart's Express, knees pulled up to her chest, in order to support an overly large book, which was hiding most of her face. At the moment, she was peeping over the top, eyes flashing.  
  
"Honestly, I would have thought that you would have grown out of such nonsense by now! Especially when this is our final year! Do you know what that means?"  
  
"Yeah," grinned Ron, "it means only one more year that I have to listen to you shout at me for not taking my work seriously".   
  
He lowered his wand, and the water filled balloon that was hanging over a sleeping Neville's head, floated gently on to the chair beside him. He picked it up and winked at Harry, who was sitting opposite him.  
  
"Keep this for later", he mouthed silently, as he delicately placed the balloon in his bag.  
  
"Well Ron", Hermoine continued, "you may think that it's funny, but this could be the most important year of our lives! I can't believe how much we are going to have to know, and how much reading we are going to have to complete! I should never have gone on holiday with my mum and dad. They wouldn't let me take all my books – they didn't think I'd get on the plane with the weight of them! And now I'm behind with my study schedule…. And don't think I didn't see you hide that water balloon!"  
  
"Relax Hermoine," said Ron, "I was only practicing my levitation charm. And I think I've finally got it sussed! It's just taken me six years. See – I was doing my revision too! Wingardium Leviosa and its practical applications."  
  
Harry started to laugh, and looking over at him, Hermoine couldn't help but smile too. There was so little to smile about these days, and it had seemed a long time since she had heard Harry laugh. She sighed and closed her book, resting it on the seat beside her. She may as well try and enjoy the rest of their journey to Hogwarts – it was going to be their last after all.  
  
  



	2. Chapter 1

**

* * *

CHAPTER ONE**

****

_Six years previously………_

"Ronald Weasley! If you do not stop that behaviour this instant, I will be sending an owl to your mother the moment we arrive at Hogwarts!" said Hermoine Granger, crossly.

She was hunched up her seat on the Hogwart's Express, knees pulled up to her chest, in order to support an overly large book, which was hiding most of her face. At the moment, she was peeping over the top, eyes flashing.

"Honestly, I would have thought that you would have grown out of such nonsense by now! Especially when this is our final year! Do you know what that means?"

"Yeah," grinned Ron, "it means only one more year that I have to listen to you shout at me for not taking my work seriously".

He lowered his wand, and the water filled balloon that was hanging over a sleeping Neville's head, floated gently on to the chair beside him. He picked it up and winked at Harry, who was sitting opposite him.

"Keep this for later", he mouthed silently, as he delicately placed the balloon in his bag.

"Well Ron", Hermoine continued, "you may think that it's funny, but this could be the most important year of our lives! I can't believe how much we are going to have to know, and how much reading we are going to have to complete! I should never have gone on holiday with my mum and dad. They wouldn't let me take all my books – they didn't think I'd get on the plane with the weight of them! And now I'm behind with my study schedule…. And don't think I didn't see you hide that water balloon!"

"Relax Hermoine," said Ron, "I was only practicing my hovering charm. And I think I've finally got it sussed! It's just taken me six years. See – I was doing my revision too! _Wingardium Leviosa_ and its practical applications."

Harry started to laugh, and looking over at him, Hermoine couldn't help but smile too. There was so little to smile about these days, and it had seemed a long time since she had heard Harry laugh. She sighed and closed her book, resting it on the seat beside her. She may as well try and enjoy the rest of their journey to Hogwarts – it was going to be their last after all.

She couldn't believe that the years had passed so quickly. It hardly seemed like any time since that initial journey on the Hogwarts Express, when she had first met Ron and Harry. They hadn't exactly hit it off straight away! As she recalled, she had been looking for Neville's toad, Trevor, and had later proceeded to tell them off for not being dressed in their school robes yet. She smiled at the memory – maybe she would always be telling them off for something! Not that she hadn't relaxed a little over the years – it hadn't taken long for the three of them to become firm friends and she knew that they had been good for her, helped her to loosen up a bit and stopped her from being _quite_ so bossy.

She looked around their carriage and a strange sadness filled her heart. It really was going to be the end of an era. There was Neville sleeping peacefully, blissfully unaware of Ron's "revision" of the practical applications of _Wingardium Leviosa_. He was finally gaining confidence in his own abilities, and had been instrumental in the events at the end of last year. Perhaps some of his confidence was due to the fact that he had stopped studying Potions, and was no longer subjected to ritual humiliation by Professor Snape in every lesson. He was now focussing mainly on Herbology and Hermoine hadn't even been _too_ upset when Neville had equalled her score in their Herbology preliminary NEWT. Ever since that first day when she helped him look for Trevor, Hermoine had felt a bit protective of Neville, and she was happy that he had finally come in to his own and had gained the respect of his classmates that he deserved. If Ron had dropped that water balloon, she knew that Neville would have been able to have given as good as he got, and she wouldn't have been placing bets as to who would have come out on top!

Also in their carriage was Ginny Weasley, Ron's younger sister, who was currently deep in conversation with Luna Lovegood. Both Luna and Ginny were going in to their sixth year at Hogwarts and had become good friends since the night in the Department of Mysteries. Hermoine counted Ginny as one of her best friends, but she had to admit that she had never quite been on the 'same level' as Luna. She was a nice enough girl, but Hermoine had felt that her doubts about Luna had increased somewhat last year, when she had told Hermoine that she'd once met a whole family of Oompa Loompas in northern Mongolia. Hermoine had smiled politely and said that of course, Oompa Loompas did not exist and were merely created by the imagination of a Muggle author. Luna and just shrugged her shoulders and said,

"Well, I'm sure you thought magic wands and broomsticks were created by the imagination of muggles, before you received your letter from Hogwarts."

Hermoine hadn't known what to say in reply to that, and had decided to just let the matter drop. After all, there was just no reasoning with some people.

And then there was Harry and Ron, her two best friends in the whole world. She'd never found that she'd had much in common with the other girls in her year, and although she loved Ginny, her experiences with Ron and Harry meant that their friendship was the most important thing to her. Ever since that first battle with the troll in first year, right through to the events a few months ago, they'd always been there for each other. Of course, they'd had their moments, as all friends do, but she really did find it difficult to imagine what life would be like once they had gone their separate ways after Hogwarts.

Although they'd never discussed it in any great detail, she knew that they all had different ideas about what their future held – Harry was almost guaranteed to become and Auror (exam results permitting), while Ron had given up on that slightly and instead had dreams of playing professional Quidditch, with hopes of eventually making the English squad. She herself, intended to go on to some wizarding University, in order to keep on learning, although she was unsure exactly what she wanted to study. She just found so many different subjects so interesting! She knew she would have to be making important decisions soon.

So here they were, entering their last year at Hogwarts. The fact that Hermoine had been made Head Girl was of no surprise to anyone, and most people had probably taken it as given, that Harry would be Head Boy – following in his father's footsteps. It therefore raised a few eyebrows when Draco Malfoy had been given that honour. Hermoine still had no time at all for her male counterpart, but could only assume that it was part of Professor Dumbledore's grand scheme for inter-house co-operation. She, herself, had her own doubts about how that was all going to turn out!

She had spoken to Harry about the matter not long after they had found out who was Head Boy, and had been pleased to learn that Harry had no regrets about not holding the position himself. He simply stated that he had other things to be getting on with, and that the last thing he needed was more responsibility – he only wished that the title had gone to Ron, or anyone else for that matter, before Malfoy. Ron, however, was content with being the Quidditch Captain for Gryffindor and had mentioned that he had no intention of being another Percy, anyway. And so – Malfoy it was. She shook her head slightly in contemplation of actually working with the arrogant and aggravating young man. Although slightly more subdued since the public shaming of his parents, there was little doubt that Malfoy still thought himself above most of the other students in the school – in particular those with the kind of background that Hermoine had. Well, he better not try anything underhand as Head Boy, she thought grimly to herself, or she would be on to it as quick as a snitch, that's for sure!

"Earth to Hermoine!" she heard Ron's voice calling.

"Sorry," she apologised as she came out of her reverie, "I wasn't listening."

"We can tell that," he replied. "You had that look of determination on your face – you know, the same one you wear when you're on a mission in the library, demolishing piles of books that have no business to be read in the first place."

She smiled at him.

"Actually, I was just thinking of what I could do to Malfoy if he decides to take advantage of his new-found power."

"Well, if you need any suggestions, just ask me. I'm always willing to contribute to a good cause!"

"I'm sure you are Ron," she laughed, "however I don't exactly want to get expelled either!"

"I'm hurt that you think I would let that happen to you," Ron replied with a wounded look. "I mean, how could I hope to pass any exams if you went and got yourself expelled!"

She just laughed in reply, "Well I suppose you'd just have to study the same as everyone else."

"Perish the thought," Ron shuddered. "Anyway, we were just wondering if you fancied a game of exploding snap? Neville has finally woken up and he's got this cool new deck of cards decorated with pictures of some nice, estimable young witches."

Neville looked a little sheepish at this, so Hermoine leaned forward and grabbed the pack of cards out of Ron's hands.

"Hmph, estimable young witches indeed!" she said, flicking through them. "They look more like scantily clad trollops to me"

"It's art, Hermoine," Ron replied, grabbing the cards back off her, "and I appreciate some good art, even if you don't!"

She rolled her eyes at him, but agreed to play the game nonetheless. She noticed that the women on her cards seemed to look very petulant and unattractive, whereas whenever one of the boys picked them up, they would start simpering and smiling in a manner that Hermoine supposed was intended to be seductive. Perhaps she could bewitch some clothes on to the exposed bodies at a later date…..

* * *

As the Hogwart's Express approached its destination, Hermoine began to gather together her belongings and stood up, preparing to head off down the carriages.

"Are you two coming?" she asked Ron and Ginny.

Both the Weasleys were now prefects, and it was their responsibility to ensure that all the first years were dressed and prepared for their arrival. They both stood up to join her, although Hermoine thought that Ron looked less than pleased with leaving the others in the compartment. She never could fully understand why Ron had been made a prefect! It was true that he was liked and admired by many younger students, but Hermoine felt that this was more due to his prowess on the Quidditch field, rather than any sense of responsibility. On the other hand, she couldn't deny that he interacted well with the students and she knew that many of them felt able to approach him with anything that was bothering them – probably more than they could with her, if she was honest with herself. Since Fred and George had left a couple of years ago, Ron had stepped into their shoes as it were – not in the extreme practical-joking sense, but in the outgoing-friendly-everyone-liked-him sense. Which was good, Hermoine thought to herself, as she got the impression that he no longer felt that he was in Harry's shadow all the time.

The three of them set off down the corridor and began to gather together all the first years. Hermoine was glad that, so far, they had managed to avoid Draco Malfoy. It was quite strange actually, now that she thought about it, as Malfoy would usually wander down to their compartment at some point in the journey, to stir things up with Harry and the rest of them. Well, it suited her fine if he was going to keep a low profile this year.

The train slowly pulled to halt at the station, and the doors to the carriages opened up, dozens of laughing and chattering students spilling on to the platform. Hermoine climbed down the steps and looked through the crowds, spotting Hagrid immediately. He was towering over everybody around him and was calling out in his loud, booming voice,

"Firs' years, this way!"

Hermoine saw that he had spotted her coming through the crowds, shepherding a group of nervous first years in front of her. He gave her a big welcoming grin,

"Alrigh' there Hermoine?" he asked.

"Great thanks, Hagrid", she replied.

She drew closer to him, and he patted her on the shoulder – she was sure that he meant it to be a gentle, friendly 'tap' but Hagrid always seemed to underestimate his own strength.

"Glad to hear it!" he continued. His expression suddenly became more sombre as he noticed her wincing slightly under his touch, and he added in a serious tone,

"You watch out for yersel' Hermoine, and watch out for those friends of yours. You all went through a lot las' year and I doubt things will be any easier this time round. You know where I am, if you need help with anythin'."

Hermoine was grateful for his offer, and smiled gently at him. However, although she appreciated the sentiment, she wasn't sure whether she exactly wanted reminding of what lay before them. The scars were literally still healing from the recent past. With each year that had passed since their first year, Voldemort had been steadily growing in power and it now only seemed like a matter of time before he was ready to wreak his vengeance upon the world. Four months ago they had been given a brief taster of what lay ahead, and it had been a harsh and bitter pill to swallow.

Just then, interrupting her thoughts, she noticed a small, green animal hopping past her feet.

"Trevor!"

She heard Neville's call, right on cue, and laughed as she watched him dodging through the crowds following the surprisingly fast toad, politely apologising to everyone he bumped into on the way. Some things would never change.

Having made sure that all the first years were now under Hagrid's watchful eye, she looked through the hustle and bustle towards the carriages that were to take the remaining students to Hogwart's Castle. People were already beginning to climb inside some carriages and she looked around for her friends to see if she could jump in with any of them. However, as she drew nearer, she felt a sudden jolt, as if a cold hand had grasped her heart. She stopped dead in her tracks and looked towards the carriages, not noticing the other students as they milled around her.

What she was now looking upon were the winged creatures that pulled the Hogwart's carriages. Thestrals. They were black in colour and looked much more reptilian and malnourished than she had imagined. Harry had described them to her in the past but she'd never been able to see them for herself – only Neville and Luna had been able to see them along with Harry. She had once expressed regret to Harry about not being able to see them, but immediately had wished she could take back the thoughtless words – the Thestrals were only visible to those who had witnessed death.

However, this time, there was now no denying that the Thestrals were there in front of her, as clear as any creature she had ever seen. There was no escaping the fact that last year she not only witnessed death first hand, but she had come close to death herself. She shivered at the memory and pulled her cloak tighter around her. She couldn't take her eyes off what she was seeing in front of her – and she remembered how she had actually flown on the back of one of these winged animals, not even knowing what was beneath her.

As she stood staring, she felt someone place their hand on her shoulder.

"It's a shock the first time, isn't it?"

She turned around and saw Harry standing beside her, also staring at the Thestrals. His face wore the serious and preoccupied expression that Hermoine was beginning to recognise as an all too familiar countenance for Harry. She gave him a sad smile in agreement, but said nothing. She was grateful for his presence and his touch on her shoulder – by just being there, he offered some reassurance to her that she was not alone and that he understood her feelings and emotions.

It was almost as if the Thestrals embodied everything that had happened over the past six years. They were the ugly face of reality of what they had all experienced – that their innocence had been stolen from them as schoolchildren and that these animals stood witness to the blood they had all seen spilled. Instead of magical, horseless carriages, they now had skeletal beasts, reminding them all at every glance of the harsh reality that they had endured – and were to continue enduring. It was almost like rubbing salt in the wound, Hermoine thought to herself – as if someone was giving a further twist of the knife.

"Ugly buggers aren't they!"

Harry and Hermoine both turned to see Ron, gambolling along the platform towards them, sticking out his tongue in apparent disgust. Hermoine smiled at Ron's poetic description of the Thestrals, although she had to agree with his conclusion.

"Well, they're not the prettiest animals I've ever seen", she admitted. "But you know they're very magical creatures. Remember what Hagrid told us about them."

She was grateful for Ron's interruption of her rather depressing thoughts. He brought a sense of liveliness to the situation, and she was now actually able to remember all that she had learned about the Thestrals, rather than dwelling on what it actually meant to be able to see them. She was determined not to allow herself to become maudlin, not on the very first day back at Hogwarts – as much for the sake of those around her, as it was for herself. She smiled at Ron and Harry,

"Lets go, then".

The three of them made their way into the nearest carriage, and were soon joined by Neville, who was running at a pace, firmly grasping Trevor in his hands

"I'm sure he does it on purpose", he gasped as he flopped on to his seat. "Not one year has gone by, when he hasn't gone for a wander the moment we pull in to Hogsmeade"

He pushed the toad into his pocket and clamped his hand firmly over the top, just as the carriages slowly began moving towards Hogwarts, pulled along by their mysterious steeds.

* * *

They were some of the last through the large, oak doors in to the main entrance of Hogwart's Castle. Ginny came running up to join them, having left Luna with some of her Ravenclaw friends. There was a throng of students in front of them, slowly making their way across the floor, heading right, in the direction of the Great Hall, where a feast awaited them. Hermoine stood with Harry, Neville, Ron and Ginny, as they hovered at this first entrance, waiting for the crowds to filter through the next door. She spotted a few people she hadn't noticed on the Hogwart's Express, and waved cheerily at them. She always loved this first evening, when everyone caught up with one and other, and shared details of what they had been up to in the three months since they'd last seen each other.

Somewhere along from her, she noticed that Ron began fumbling in his bag. She couldn't quite see what he was doing, as Ginny, Harry and Neville were standing in between, but she was not unduly concerned. However, he suddenly turned around and said,

"Hey, Harry, fancy getting in some early Quidditch practice?"

He tossed something over to Harry, who caught it deftly in his hands. Ginny squealed slightly beside him as she moved out of the way. Hermoine couldn't make out what Ron had thrown. Whatever it was, Harry lifted it in one hand and threw it back in Ron's direction,

"Not just now, Keeper!" he smiled. "Lets at least get some dinner first!"

Ron caught the projectile easily, and it was only then that Hermoine recognised what they were pitching at each other – it was the water balloon that Ron had been levitating over Neville's head on the Hogwart's Express earlier. She was amazed that he still had it and that it hadn't burst in his bag.

"What do you still have that for?" she hissed. "How on earth have you managed to keep it all the way here?"

"It's something Fred and George have been working on," he grinned. "It wont actually burst unless it actually comes into contact with something with force. See!"

In demonstration he began squeezing at the balloon, and it began to distort into an odd shape, two bulbous ends growing at either side, while he tightened his grip around the middle. Harry and Ginny began to laugh.

"It just wont explode like that," he continued, "although you have to be careful as you catch it."

He was now twisting the balloon around the middle, until it looked like two smaller balloons stuck together. Despite what he had said, Hermoine seriously doubted whether it could take much more strain and fully expected it to burst all over him.

"Stop it!" she warned, "You're going to end up soaking!"

"Hermoine, you need to live a little!" Ron called merrily as he untwisted it. "Here – catch!"

He held up the balloon in two hands and volleyed it across the heads of Harry, Neville and Ginny towards her. Panic stricken, she reached out and somehow managed to catch the missile in her shaking fingers, preventing it from exploding around her. It felt cold and slippery and she thanked her lucky stars that it hadn't burst in her hands. She looked at Ron, furious.

"What are you playing at?" she yelled. "I've a good mind to take 50 points from you, before term has even officially begun!"

"Aw, come on 'Mione", Ron said with a smile, which Hermoine was sure he thought was endearing. "You wouldn't do that to me, would you?"

"I bloody well would!" she retorted in reply.

She still held the balloon in both her hands, but she carefully took its full weight in one and searched in her cloak for her wand with the other. Ron obviously guessed what she was intending to do, and he muttered,

"Spoil sport."

Ignoring him, Hermoine found her wand and took it out, preparing to cast the _Evanesco _spell.

At that moment, a commotion of some sort behind her caused her to hesitate. She glanced over her shoulder to see what was going on and saw a young boy, who she recognised as a second-year Gryffindor, staggering to his feet – he appeared to be having some sort of scuffle with some other second years from Slytherin. Exasperated, she lowered her wand and began to turn around in order to tell them to behave. Honestly, could no one wait patiently for a few minutes, without feeling the need to act up in some way? And she wasn't convinced such behaviour stopped with second years either, thinking of Ron and the water balloon.

Unfortunately, before she had a chance to fully turn around, she felt herself being propelled forward, as someone hurtled in to the back of her. She later found out that the second-year Slytherins had pushed the young Gryffindor, sending him stumbling towards her. He hadn't been able to stop himself crashing in to Hermoine. She fought to keep her balance, but because she had been taken completely unaware she felt herself falling forwards towards the stone floor of the Entrance Hall!

As if in slow motion, she saw the balloon leave her hand and sail through the air. She wasn't sure if she cried out or not, blood pounding in her ears, as she realised that no one was going to catch it. Worse – she saw someone coming through the main door, completely unaware of what was heading their way. In her shock, something registered somewhere in her brain as to who she was seeing emerge into her vision. Had she not been falling towards the floor, she would have made a last ditch attempt to cast the vanishing spell she had been about to perform on the flying balloon – instead she crashed on to her hands and knees and briefly felt the pain, before the images she had seen began to clear in her head.

If only she was mistaken!

She looked up at Harry, Ron, Neville and Ginny and saw the absolute horror on their faces. Harry looked as if a ghost has just walked through him, while Ron looked as if he actually _was_ a ghost. Ginny had a hand on either side of her face, fingers covering her mouth, which was hanging open in shock. Her eyes were like saucers. Neville looked like he was about to faint on the spot. For the second time that day, Hermoine felt a cold grip on her heart – but this was far worse than seeing the Thestrals for the first time. She immediately lowered her head again and closed her eyes, unable to deal with the full picture just yet.

"Oh dear God, don't let it be, please don't let it be", she prayed feverishly to herself.

She found that her current position on her hands and knees was an appropriate one for praying. Yet she knew she could put it off no longer. Even if she screwed her eyes shut and prayed to every God that she had ever read about, she knew that the dreadfulness she pictured would still be there when she opened them. She opened one eye first and then the other, but was still staring at her hands in front of her. Looking up slowly, she felt her heart sink to the bottom of her stomach as her worst fears were confirmed.

First his black boots. Then his black trousers. A little higher. His black cloak. Further up. Arms folded against his chest. She noted he was holding his wand. Oh dear. Right up. Long black hair. More than a little damp. He now had her full attention.

Standing before her, drenched to the skin – and looking positively murderous – stood the most hated and feared teacher at Hogwarts.

Professor Snape.


	3. Chapter 2

The scene was frozen in a tableau in front of her eyes.  
  
After a couple of seconds of absolute, blood numbing, heart stopping and terrifying disbelief, Hermoine suddenly sprang in to action.  
  
"Professor!" she exclaimed, as she scrambled to her feet, "I'm so sorry!"  
  
Her voice sounded breathless but she was amazed that she was able to get any words out of her mouth at all – it had completely dried up and she was actually beginning to feel quite light-headed, thinking about what had just happened.  
  
Snape stood in front of her, looking far more imposing than she had ever seen him, and it almost seemed as if he was trembling with rage. His face was stony and pale, in stark contrast to the dark, wet hair that hung over his eyes, dripping water on to the ground below. In his right hand he held his wand, while the fingers of his left hand were flexing slightly, almost as if on impulse. His black gown was soaking around his shoulders and it clung slightly to the top of his arms, before drying out towards the bottom. His voice shook with suppressed anger;  
  
"Someone," he said quietly, looking directly at Hermoine "is going to suffer for this."  
  
She felt her insides churn at his words and the blood drained from her face.  
  
"Sir! It wasn't Hermoine's fault. It was my balloon and..." Ron started.  
  
"Professor Snape – she was pushed. She was going to destroy it, honestly, but..." Ginny started to say at the same time.  
  
Soon there were many voices, all protesting Hermoine's innocence, while at the same time apologising for what had happened. Even Neville was making appeals to the man that embodied his worst nightmares,  
  
"She didn't have time to get rid of it!"  
  
"Please, I'm so sorry!" Hermoine said again, looking at Snape desperately, as his jaw tensed and he breathed in deeply.  
  
"You've got to believe us"  
  
"Ask anyone"  
  
"As if Hermoine would do anything like that on purpose!"  
  
Snape's eyes narrowed at the protestations that continued around him.  
  
"Silence!" he called, raising both hands upwards in a commanding gesture, his robe billowing around him.  
  
His wand, which was still held in his right hand, emitted some red sparks at his voice – almost like a visible demonstration of the violence that lay beneath. It was a terrorizing sight. Hermoine immediately shut her mouth, as did every other student who was still in the hall. They all turned to look at the main players of this disastrous situation and a hush descended upon the room. Those who were making their way through in to the Great Hall stopped in their tracks, and turned to witness the scene, relishing in the awful inevitability of it all.  
  
Snape slowly lowered his hands – he still held his wand in one, and with the other he pulled the wet hair out of his eyes, allowing Hermoine full force of his glare. She wished that she was anywhere but standing in front of this sight – she briefly wondered if she could run back outside and ask the Thestrals to take her back to Hogsmeade.  
  
Interrupting the stillness, she heard a gleeful voice coming from somewhere above them.  
  
"She threw it at you! She did! I saw it all! She knew you were coming!"  
  
Aghast, Hermoine looked up and saw Peeves floating above the main entrance, absolutely gloating over the scene of destruction beneath him.  
  
"That's not true!" she spluttered. "Honestly sir, I had no idea. I didn't even mean..."  
  
She was interrupted mid-sentence.  
  
"I said _silence_!" Snape spat with rancour.  
  
Hermoine heard Peeves snicker to himself and she cursed him inwardly for making a bad situation even worse. With his free hand, Snape wiped at his face, and then flicked it off to the side, sending droplets of water flying off to the floor. She watched them land on the stone floor by his feet, making tiny splashes in the small pool of water that was already there. She suddenly realised that she should make an effort to clean up some of the mess that had been created.  
  
"Professor, please, let me help!"  
  
She rushed forward, raising her wand, and repeated the incantation she knew would dry up the water,  
  
"_Arefacio_"  
  
However, just as the word was spoken, with a reflex that was astounding, Snape reached out with his left hand and grabbed her forearm with force. When he spoke, his voice had a deathly chill,  
  
"Don't _ever_ presume to raise your wand to me again"  
  
In shock, she dropped her wand as he tightened his grip on her arm. She could feel the tears welling up behind her eyes, and fought to stop them from falling down her cheeks – she would not humiliate herself in front of half the school. It was no comfort to realise that her spell had worked and that Snape was now bone dry. She guessed that she wasn't going to hear a 'thank you' any time soon.  
  
She looked up and her eyes, which were now blinking away unwelcome tears, met those of her professor. They were dark and cold, as if any life behind them had been extinguished long ago. However, there was no denying the danger that was written all over his face and she knew that it wouldn't take much for his fury to be unleashed.  
  
"I... I'm sorry" she whispered, annoyed at herself for the hesitation that she heard in her voice.  
  
Her apology brought forth no reaction from Snape and he continued to stare at her with those unfeeling eyes. She began to feel very uncomfortable – her arm was starting to hurt and she got the distinct impression that this was what he intended. It was only the fact that she was already in far more trouble than she could imagine that prevented her from protesting to him.  
  
At that moment she saw Harry coming in to her vision, and she realised in shock that he was holding out his wand.  
  
"Take your hands off her."  
  
His voice was surprisingly calm but Hermoine could recognise the latent anger behind his words. Grateful as she was for his support, she hoped that he wasn't going to say or do anything to make their situation any worse. Although Harry seemed to have more control over his temper these days, you never knew when he was going to lose it once more.  
  
Snape's eyebrows raised slightly and he turned round to face Harry, his lip curling in to his trademark sneer,  
  
"Ah, Mr Potter, I should have known – ever the hero".  
  
The sarcasm was evident in his tone, but he released his hold on Hermoine's wrist nonetheless. She looked down and saw red finger marks round her forearm and she rubbed it gently.  
  
"You have no right to lay a finger on Hermoine", Harry continued, looking directly at Snape and showing no sign of cowering under the Professor's glare.  
  
"Are you challenging my authority Potter?" Snape asked dangerously.  
  
"Harry, leave it", Hermoine interjected, "It's not worth it."  
  
Snape and Harry continued to stare at each other, their dislike for each other showing plainly on both their faces.  
  
"I suggest you do what your little girlfriend says, Potter," Snape said quietly, the insult plain in his tone.  
  
The colour on Harry's cheeks heightened, and Hermoine saw the hatred flash behind his eyes.  
  
"Harry, please!" she pleaded with him, praying that he wasn't going to take the bait that Snape was so plainly laying before him.  
  
Harry turned and looked at her, and she implored at him silently to let the matter drop. He stared at her a few seconds longer and then she saw the emotion fade from his eyes. He suddenly turned away from her.  
  
"You're not worth it," he said in a hushed voice to Snape as he walked past.  
  
Hermoine breathed a sigh of relief as she watched him rejoin Ron, Neville and Ginny, at a safe distance. She ignored the strange nervousness in the pit of her stomach – she was plainly worked up about everything. As she looked back at Snape, she knew that the matter was far from over – no wonder she was feeling apprehensive! If only she had a time turner so she could go back and try to stop any of this from happening!  
  
She noticed her wand on the floor next to her feet, and leaned down to pick it up. As she stood up, she spotted Draco Malfoy standing a few metres away, arms folded, with a strange smile on his face. Trust him to make an appearance now, she thought to herself. She threw him a dirty look and then turned her back to him.  
  
"Well, I think you all better follow me" Snape said, his mouth forming in to an unpleasant smile. "And I have to say, it's just as well that you haven't had time to make yourselves comfortable yet."  
  
He called over a young third year student,  
  
"Marshall – go to Professor McGonagall directly. Tell her I will meet her in her classroom as soon as possible!"  
  
The third year scurried off, looking terrified. Snape swept past them and Hermoine's heart sank as she looked at the others in dismay. Ron tried to give a reassuring smile, but failed miserably – it looked more like a wretched grimace. Ginny and Neville both looked despondent, while Harry almost looked detached from it all, gazing in to the distance.  
  
They all turned and grudgingly followed Snape in the direction of a door at the left of the hall, leaving Peeves cackling to himself above the doorway,  
  
"Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink!"

* * *

The all stood in their Transfiguration classroom, waiting for Professor McGonagall to arrive. None of them spoke to each other, although they occasionally caught each other's eye - huddled together in the middle of the room, it was if they were relying on each other's presence for moral support. Hermoine briefly contemplated trying to reason once more with their Potions Professor and explain to him what had happened, but she didn't seem able to formulate any words. Instead she looked around the classroom at the rows of quiet desks, which by tomorrow morning would be surrounded by Hogwarts students, earnestly trying to transfigure spiders in to squirrels and such like. It crossed her mind that it was slightly strange that Snape had brought them here instead of his own dungeon, but didn't dwell on it for any length of time – she had more things to be worrying about.  
  
The man himself was standing at one of the windows, the setting sun casting light from behind him, meaning that his features were in darkness. However, Hermoine didn't need to see Snape's expression to know that he wished them nothing but hostility. She was sure that she was going to be spending every evening from now until Graduation in detention – if she was even allowed to stay at Hogwarts long enough for her to graduate!  
  
After about ten minutes of uncomfortable waiting, Professor McGonagall, the Deputy Head of Hogwarts, limped in to the room assisted by the stick that she had been forced to use for the past year or so. She nodded at Snape and then turned to face the five friends, who were still standing very close together. She scarcely acknowledged them, except by stating to Harry and Ron,  
  
"Mr Potter, Mr Weasley. I had hoped that I wouldn't have to leave the first feast of the year for you two again. Especially not in your final year!"  
  
Hermoine assumed that she was referring to the events in the second year, when Harry and Ron had arrived at the school in a flying Ford Anglia, landing in the Whomping Williow. They had escaped lightly then – she only hoped that the same was to happen again.  
  
"Would someone care to tell me what all this is about?" McGonagall said to no one in particular. "All I got was some garbled message from Miss Marshall about some seventh year students throwing water over Professor Snape. Please tell me I'm mistaken!"  
  
"Oh no, you're not mistaken" Snape said. "That is exactly what happened."  
  
McGonagall's lips narrowed and she glared at them all, as they stood together in the middle of the room.  
  
"Professor McGonagall, please" Harry started, "This has absolutely nothing to do with Ginny and Neville. It's not right that they should miss out on the feast."  
  
Hermoine nodded her head in agreement and Ron added,  
  
"It's all my fault really. Honestly, Ginny and Neville should be allowed to go."  
  
Professor McGonagall turned and looked at Professor Snape, who merely jerked his head in a non-committal manner.  
  
"Oh, I have no doubt that the responsibility lies with the infamous trio", he said scathingly.  
  
"Very well" McGonagall said briskly, "Longbottom and Miss Weasley – you may return to the feast. But I don't need to warn you of the consequences if you find yourselves in any more trouble any time in the foreseeable future."  
  
Ginny and Neville both nodded gratefully and turned and left the room quickly. On their way out Ginny smiled briefly at the three of them, and Neville gave Hermoine a quick wink. She was grateful for their encouragement but guessed she was going to need a lot more than that to see her through this.  
  
She turned and looked at Professor McGonagall, her favourite teacher at Hogwarts, and felt awful as she saw the look on the older woman's face - now she understood how Harry felt, when he explained to her about Dumbledore's look of disappointment after the Whomping Willow incident.  
  
"Please enlighten me as to what has happened," she said to Hermoine.  
  
Hermoine cleared her throat and prayed that her voice would remain steady.  
  
"Well, we were just waiting to go in to the Great Hall," she began and then paused, realising that if she went any further she was going to get the boys in to trouble – as if they weren't in enough as it was.  
  
"Perhaps I can help", Ron started, resignation sounding in his voice.  
  
Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrows and said, "Very well Mr Weasley."  
  
"Well, I was mucking around with a water balloon that I got from... ah, a random shop in Diagon Alley... that is... well, a water balloon is a balloon that you have to fill up water... obviously... and..."  
  
"I'm well aware of what a water balloon is Mr Weasley. Please get to the point." McGonagall was obviously in no mood to be kept waiting.  
  
"Of course, sorry Professor. Well, as I was saying, I was playing around with the water balloon – and can I take this opportunity to say that I am thoroughly ashamed of my conduct – ah, sorry, I'll get to the point." He took a deep breath and then continued hurriedly,  
  
"Anyway, Hermoine was erm... less than amused with my most reprehensible behaviour and she decided to confiscate the offending article. That is – the balloon. So she had it in her hand when there was some commotion behind her, which ended up in some little squirt – sorry, bad choice of words – some second year falling in to the back of her. Well, she couldn't keep her balance and she lost her grip on the balloon – we wouldn't want her to be Gryffindor Keeper, now would we Professor! Sorry, sorry. That was when Snape... sorry, _Professor_ Snape walked through the door. It really was a terrible, _terrible_ accident."  
  
Ron finished with a dramatic sigh and he raised the back of his hand to his forehead. Had it not been for the gravity of the situation, Hermoine felt that she might have wanted to laugh. However, one look at Professor Snape was enough to quell any such notion.  
  
"Is this correct", McGonagall asked her.  
  
"Yes. I really didn't mean to let go of the balloon and I certainly didn't intent to hit Professor Snape with it. I can only apologise profusely for what happened."  
  
Snape snorted across the room at her, leaving her in no doubt as to what he thought of her apology. He stepped forward from the window and turned to Professor McGonagall.  
  
"Maybe now I can explain what really happened," he said coolly. "I'm sure it is correct that Weasley was acting like a child, playing with a water balloon, and I'm also quite sure that Potter and Miss Granger were fooling along with him. Miss Granger obviously then had the balloon and decided to throw it at the door. Whether or not she knew I was coming through is irrelevant – although I am quite sure that she did. Nevertheless, when she chose to throw it at the door, she behaved in a completely irresponsible manner and should now accept the consequences of her actions."  
  
"I didn't choose to throw it at the door," Hermoine began protesting. "It was a complete accident."  
  
Professor McGonagall looked at her piercingly for a couple of seconds and then turned back to Professor Snape.  
  
"Well, I don't think you could definitely say that what happened was premeditated. I certainly don't condone this sort of behaviour, but to say that Miss Granger intentionally hit you with that water balloon would be taking things too far."  
  
"I have witnesses!" he seethed. "Ask any of the other students who were in the hall. Or Peeves – he saw it all!"  
  
"Oh, Professor, please! You really want to rely on the word of that poltergeist?" McGonagall replied.  
  
Hermoine began to breathe a little easier. Thank goodness Professor McGonagall didn't think she had hit Snape on purpose. Perhaps she would be making it to her Graduation after all! If only Snape believed her as well!  
  
"You can't honestly be thinking of letting these infernal brats get away with this! Expulsion is too good for them!"  
  
Snape began to raise his voice slightly and he glowered at the three of them across the room. Hermoine was sure he was picturing all sorts of corporal punishment and remembered the rumours she had heard about the chains and manacles hanging from the roof in Filch's office.  
  
"I just find it very difficult to believe that the Head Girl of Hogwarts would do something as foolish as throwing _anything_ at her Potions professor, never mind a water filled balloon!" McGonagall continued.  
  
"Then you have far too much faith in your _noble_, Gryffindor students," Snape retorted.  
  
The two teachers glared at each other across the room and Hermoine felt eternally grateful for the words spoken by her Head of House. How could Snape possibly imagine that she would deliberately soak him with a water bomb? She chose not to think about the fact that she had once set fire to his robes and had disarmed him of his wand in the Shrieking Shack – desperate times had called for desperate measures.  
  
"Be that as it may Severus, but as you have just pointed out, they are Gryffindor students, which gives me the right to punish them as I see fit. Naturally, I shall defer to you for the _details_ of the punishment, but there shall certainly be no expulsions today."  
  
"I can't believe I'm hearing this!" Snape looked livid.  
  
McGonagall merely turned to Hermoine, Harry and Ron.  
  
"You shall all serve two weeks detention. It will be for Professor Snape to decide the manner in which you spend them. In the meantime, I suggest you go up to your common room immediately – and no, Mr Weasley, you shall not be rejoining the feast."  
  
Ron closed his mouth, his question unasked.  
  
"I shall certainly be investigating this matter further, and if I find any indication whatsoever that you three have not been truthful to me, believe me, you will wish that you'd never returned to school this term!"  
  
She turned to Snape and said,  
  
"Severus – I think it's time we both made our way to the Great Hall. The students will be returning to their Houses soon."  
  
She turned and walked out of the room, with Snape walking slowly and deliberately behind her. When he passed the three of them, he turned and spoke with a voice that was loaded with venom.  
  
"All to often I have watched you the three get away with things you shouldn't have," he said. "Too many times I've watched you escape the punishment you deserve. You all think that you are something so special and that you are untouchable. Well, no longer! I warn you all now – I shall personally make sure that your last year at Hogwarts is a living hell."  
  
With that, he turned on his heel and left the room, leaving an air of unpleasantness behind him.

* * *

Hermoine's head hurt and she wanted to shut her eyes to everything that had happened that evening.  
  
She stood in front of a portrait of a beautiful young lady, with long flowing blonde hair reaching down to her waist. The lady was sitting on a bench in a newly harvested field of barley, and was gazing wistfully out to the horizon. At first glance, the field appeared to be otherwise deserted – yet on closer inspection Hermoine saw, to her surprise, what appeared to be a lion walking off in to the distance.  
  
She shook her head, deciding that she didn't have the brainpower to think about the significance of the portrait at the moment – all she wanted was to go to bed. She turned and looked to the right of the portrait, where an oaken door stood, firmly locked.  
  
As Head Girl, Hermoine was given the privacy of her own room. Luckily for her, it wasn't far from the Gryffindor Tower and so she would be able to visit the common room with ease. In fact, it was from the Gryffindor common room that she had just come, having returned there with the boys after leaving the Transfiguration classroom. The two boys had been complaining at the injustice of all that happened and were cursing Snape for everything under the sun, but she had felt drained of all energy and hadn't been able to work up the enthusiasm to join in the general Snape- bashing.  
  
They had managed to acquire some food from the House Elves and had eaten their fill, before the rest of the students had arrived from the Great Hall. There had been a great commotion as their classmates crowded around them, asking for all the details.  
  
"You really pelted Snape with a water bomb, Hermoine?" Seamus Finnegan exclaimed. "Nice one!"  
  
"Head Girl too!" Lavender Brown had added.  
  
"I didn't mean to do it!" Hermoine replied, somewhat testily.  
  
She wasn't sure why she was feeling so irritable, except that a lot had happened that evening, and she still couldn't believe that anyone would think that she would do such a thing on purpose. She knew that Seamus and Lavender were just teasing, but she didn't have the patience to be dealing with it at the moment.  
  
"I'm off to bed", she said, standing up from her chair.  
  
Ron stood up with her.  
  
"Are you alright Hermoine?" he asked. "Listen, don't let that bastard Snape get to you. It's like Harry said earlier – he's not worth it."  
  
She smiled back at him.  
  
"You shouldn't call him that. Don't forget his threat to make our lives a living hell."  
  
"Huh, he doesn't scare me!" Ron said with bravado. "I'm actually thinking of getting in touch with Fred and George and ordering more of those water balloons. Maybe we can arrange a whole army and drop hundreds of them over the banister on to Snape as he walks to breakfast one morning. The shower would do him good! I'll bet we could get Peeves to join in. Of course, you'd have to be the Army Major as you have proved yourself to be the expert on the battlefield!"  
  
Hermoine couldn't help but laugh.  
  
"Goodnight Ron", she said, as she gave him a quick hug.  
  
She then turned to the rest of her friends.  
  
"See you in the morning."  
  
They said their goodnights, and as she left the room she heard them all resume the earlier conversation.  
  
"Did Snape really break Hermoine's arm?" she heard a fourth year boy ask.  
  
Shaking her head in despair, she had made her way to her room.  
  
She was now looking at the shut oaken door, blocking the way to her bedroom, and felt confused, as she could see no handle by which to open it.  
Feeling a little self-conscious, she lifted her hand and knocked gently at the door. When nothing happened, she frowned to herself, wondering what she was meant to do.  
  
"You need to choose a password", the blonde girl in the portrait said softly.  
  
Hermoine turned round to look at the girl, who was now standing up from her bench and gazing back at her. Of course, she should have realised – her room was now out with the area protected by the Fat Lady. But what to choose as a password? She opened her mouth and said the first words that came into her head.  
  
"Water Bomb."  
  
If the blonde girl was surprised by the choice of password, she gave no indication of it. The door to the right swung open and Hermoine made her way through into the corridor behind.  
  
"Thanks," she said, over her shoulder to the portrait.  
  
She walked down a short corridor, which lead in to a large room. She paused and looked around at what was to be her home for the best part of a year.  
  
Her bed was against the far wall – it was a large double, four-poster bed, with cream sheets and drapes, contrasting with the dark wooden frame. At the top end were the plumpest pillows Hermoine had ever seen and she couldn't wait to rest her head on them. The walls were also cream and the carpet was a deep red, and very soft to walk on. It crossed her mind that the room might be decorated to fit with her Gryffindor colours and she wondered briefly if perhaps Draco's room was green? She pushed that idea far from her head – she didn't want to be thinking of that boy at all, never mind what his bedroom looked like!  
  
There was a single window on the left hand wall, and although it was dark now outside, she could see Hagrid's hut in the distance, before the ominous shadow of the Forbidden Forest. It was always difficult to tell at Hogwarts what direction you were facing, and Hermoine was happy that she looked down on to Hagrid's hut – although she could have done without the Forbidden Forest! A small desk was positioned under the window, with a wooden chair sitting underneath. There was also a more comfortable looking armchair in the corner. She noticed a door leading to her ensuite bathroom on the right – a long, hot bath could be just what she needed.  
  
Her belongings had been brought directly to her room from the Hogwart's Express and she knew that her clothes would already be hanging in the wardrobe at the bottom of the room. The photograph of her parents was sitting on the bedside table, and her books were lined up along the shelves next to the window. She smiled to herself – she imagined that she could feel quite comfortable here.  
  
Crookshanks had already made himself at home and was lying, full stretch, at the bottom of her bed. She sat down beside him, and buried her hand in his thick fur. He purred in contentment, his eyes half closed. The gentle vibration soothed her a little and she lay back on the bed and shut her eyes. She felt the gentle pressure on her stomach and chest as Crookshanks climbed on top of her and settled down, his continuous purring providing her with a degree of comfort.  
  
"Hey there," she murmured as she stroked his head.  
  
Thoughts continued to swim through her own head as she lay there with her cat – the thestrals, the water balloon, a soaking Snape, her aching forearm, Harry's challenge, Professor McGonagall, two weeks detention – and Snape's malevolent threat.  
  
What a start to her final year...

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Author's Note: I hope this is going ok. Thanks to all of you who have reviewed so far – you're comments are really appreciated and they give me motivation to keep on going!


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